


Shindig

by HardPass



Series: Carried Away [4]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angsty Cullen, Birthday Party, Birthday Presents, Book: Swords and Shields - Varric Tethras, Bromance, Cole is adorable, Drinking, F/M, Flirting, I hate geological surveys, Inquisitor & Dorian Pavus Friendship, M/M, Meddling Inquisitor, Sappy Inquisitor, Sassy Inquisitor, Sexual Tension, Shipping, Wicked Grace, i ship everyone, sex toy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-17
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-10-06 09:35:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10331699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HardPass/pseuds/HardPass
Summary: My sassy-pants Inquisitor reluctantly attends her own birthday party, but presents, drinking, Wicked Grace, scandalous revelations, and one serious wager with Varric make the night one for the books.





	

Caroline burst into Josephine’s office heaving a box full of rocks in her arms. She waddled over the desk and slammed it down next to a vase with a loud huff. The ambassador looked up in surprise, half-standing to peek inside.

“You’ve brought me...rocks. Why did you bring me rocks?”

“I brought you rocks, Josie dear, because the requisition officers keep making me find them. I have done five geological surveys in the Hinterlands. Five. And they want them in the Storm Coast, the Hissing Wastes, the Exalted Plains, everywhere. I get one done, pass the rocks along, and get the next requisition request, and it’s more. Fucking. Rocks.” 

Unamused, she took a slow, calming breath. “Then take your complaint to the requisition officers to pass on to the geologists who are conducting these surveys.” 

“No, that’s not going to happen. Or, rather, it already did happen. I lodged my complaint. I’ve lodged multiple complaints, but they go unheeded. I am the Inquisitor. I do not have time to go mining for the pursuit of geology. I have so many better uses of my time! And what stone and metals I do mine, I’d like to maybe use on my own gear. I have the  _ entire _ Undercroft at my disposal, but do I have enough serpentstone to tint my dashing new helmet? No. Because I gave it all to the goddamn geologists!” she exploded. 

“And this is my problem how?” 

“I’m making it your problem. From now on if the geologists want their ore, the requisition officers can now personally pick it up from you.” 

The woman set her hand against her forehead. “Why are you doing this to me, Caroline?” 

“I can’t seem put a stop to it, but I know you can.” 

Sitting back, she folded her arms, billowing sleeves half-obstructing her face. “So this is your solution. Dump the rocks with me until I put the fear of the Maker in a couple of rogue geologists who have monopolized requisitions?” 

“Yes, or I kill them. Because that’s the only other option I can come up with.” 

She stood, setting her hands on the box and shoving it back towards her. “Take your rocks. I will deal with geologists.” 

One of her sleeves brushed the edge of the vase, toppling it off the edge of the desk to smash against the floor. Ceramic shards, water, and embrium blooms dashed over the decorative rug and Caroline’s boots. They both cursed, scrambling to pick everything up. She began pitching the embrium into her box to take out, but Josephine held up a hand to stop her. 

“Oh, don’t. I’ll find another vase for them.” 

“They’re a bit droopy after their fall.” 

The woman looked down at the flowers, biting her lip. 

“Josie?”

“I’m very confused, Inquisitor,” she confessed in a gush, setting the flowers gently on her desk and bending back to the shards of pottery. “The flowers are very complicated. I don’t know what to do.” 

“Why don’t you start by telling me where they came from?” she suggested, tossing broken shards into the box with her “geological survey.” 

The ambassador chewed her lip and twisted her hands together. The flowers, Caroline concluded, could only be from an admirer. Flowers didn’t usually have confusing strings, and since Josephine always conducted herself with utter confidence in her own propriety, they likely came from an inappropriate source. With the scent of blood in the water, she leaned in with bright eyes. 

“Come now, Josie. You can tell me.”

She exhaled slowly. “It’s just an innocent flirtation, I’m sure.” 

“With…?”

“Blackwall,” she blurted, a flush creeping into her face. 

“Shut your lying mouth! Honestly? Blackwall.  _ Our _ Blackwall. Gruff, bearded fellow, dark hair, smells like a bog unicorn, brooding eyes?” 

Bustling back behind her desk, she began shuffling papers around in the worst facsimile of being busy Caroline had ever seen. Her cheeks darkened to deep crimson. 

“It’s really nothing. He’s being kind. I’m sure.” 

“Yeah, or he could want to rip those poofy gold sleeves off your body, throw you down on your bed, and…”

“Caroline!” 

“Do you think he takes off his beard before going to bed…?”

“Carrie,” she groaned. “Don’t make such a big fuss. I just...I wish I knew what his intentions were. For academic purposes. So I knew where to set my boundaries.” 

Caroline hopped up on the edge of her desk and picked up the flowers to toy with. “You mean, so you could freshen your breath before he brings you flowers, just in case?” 

“Of course not. Such a thing would be highly improper.” She set her palms firmly on the desk. “If his intentions stretch beyond a little flirting, I must put a stop to it. Before I...before we...because that’s the way it must be.” 

“Before he burns your panties off with a single, smoldering look?” she purred. 

Josephine swatted at her. “Oh, would you take your rocks and get out?” 

“Do you want him to smolder at you?” 

“Of course not!” 

“You’re a terrible liar, Josie.” 

Flushed, distressed, she fanned herself. “It is not so simple. There is so much to consider, many external influences that would make things…” 

“Hot and dangerous?” 

“Complicated,” she corrected sternly.

Feigning innocence, she twirled one of the flower stems between her fingers. “Well, if I were a serious, outdoorsy smelling fellow with a dashing beard and craving for redemption, I could think of a no kinder, more beautiful, fashion-forward woman to set my sights on. Shall I make some inquiries for you, dear Josie? I daresay you deserve it. You work so hard, it would be nice to know you were taking a break and taken care of. Perhaps in front of a roaring fire, sprawled on a bearskin rug, petting Blackwall’s beard while it purrs under your gentle touch…”

“How do I get you to shut up?” she groaned. “I don’t want you to make inquiries. Please, Carrie. Promise me you won’t meddle.” 

It seemed a waste of an opportunity. She set the flower aside with a gentle pat on its stem. “Fine then, but I want to offer my full approval of this courtship, as Inquisitor and as your friend. Because we do work hard, and we all deserve moments of happiness outside of this organization. Blackwall is also a dear friend. Entertain the idea,” she implored, as serious as she ever got. 

Josephine bit her lip, gazing down at the flowers. “I will take your endorsement under advisement.” Setting her hands on the desk, she said, “Now, there is some business I have for you, before you leave.” 

“Is it scandalous?” she asked, perking. 

“I don’t know. Unless there’s a particular reason you kept your birthday to yourself.” 

Caroline sucked in a sharp breath, hand flying to her chest. How had she found out? Her birthday was not something she cared to acknowledge. If anything, her mother deserved the celebration. She was the one who shoved a baby out of her snatch twenty-odd years ago. Anybody who accomplished that deserved the recognition, in her book. In any case, she hadn’t told anyone what day she had been born, and had hoped it would slide by without acknowledgement. 

“Who told you?” 

The ambassador, again, pretended to be busy. “Oh, you know how this gossip gets around.” 

“Leliana. It was her, wasn’t it? She’s the only one who could have possibly figured it out. Who all did she tell? I don’t want to make a big deal, so who all knows?” When that didn’t earn her a confession, she offered, “I’ll make you a trade. I won’t meddle with Blackwall, if you just keep this little thing to yourself.” 

“I wish that I could. I was supposed to send this to you sometime in the next half hour. Since you are here, it makes sense to deliver it to you personally.” She passed over a heavy envelope sealed ornately with wax. 

Groaning, she opened the letter and read a formal invitation to her own party written in gold ink. It appeared they had a shindig planned in the Herald’s Rest. “Who all is going to be there?” 

“Not many. Just your friends.” 

It sounded like a lie. If she had to guess, half of Skyhold would end up crammed in the tavern to toast her aging. It didn’t make sense to shoot the messenger, but somebody would pay. 

“Who was in charge of the invite list?” 

“Dorian, I believe.” 

“He orchestrated this whole thing, didn’t he?” 

“Um…” 

“Of course, he would have had accomplices. The question is, did he do it in a genuine effort to be nice, or did he do it to annoy me? Oh, don’t answer that. It’s Dorian. Of course he did it to annoy me. Thank you, Josephine. Do you want to keep the rocks?” 

She looked at the box on her desk. “Not particularly.” 

“Actually, I have a better idea of what to do with them.” She heaved the the box back into her arms. 

“Happy birthday, Inquisitor!” Josephine called after her. 

“I’ll try.” 

Caroline set out to the tavern with lingering reluctance. If she had to be honest with herself, she wouldn’t have minded to celebrate if everyone didn’t already act like the sun shined out of her ass. They called her “Your Worship.” They sang to her. They believed she was a holy paragon, blessed by Andraste’s very own hand. She was sick of being the subject of adoration and glorification. Couldn’t she just have a pint and a little cake, then get on with life? 

Somebody had propped the door, which was never a good sign. Skyhold was frigid on its best of days. A propped door could only mean so many people inside that the accumulated body heat started to suffocate the patrons. Bracing herself, she eased through the door. 

She hit a wall of bodies, unable to make it much past the threshold. That seemed like as good an excuse as any to back out and go hide somewhere up in the battlements, but those closest to her had been waiting in ambush. They were scouts, naturally. She wondered if they had been positioned there on purpose. A deafening roar rippled its way through the tavern, starting with those within visual range of her, and then making its way to the back tables, bar, and even up the stairs to the second level, and then, impossibly, to the third. Pints all across the Herald’s Rest were raised in her honor. 

“Oh, Maker, they’re going to sing again,” she swore, her voice drowned out by the ruckus. 

Forcing a grin on her face, she waded her way into the tavern, accepting congratulations. With each person she greeted, she reached into her box and pulled out a rock or hunk of metal or shard of pottery, pressing it into their hands. 

“I’m so pleased you’re here!” “Glad you could make it!” “Oh, I’m so surprised!” 

They accepted the tokens, because they were too stupid to question why the hell the Inquisitor was giving them stones in exchange for showing up for her party. She would let them puzzle it out on their own and then pump her friends for gossip about what everyone thought it meant. She would be sure to send a note to the geologists to let them know what their precious requisition had actually gone to. She passed out each rock like it was a true treasure. Geologists could suck it. 

When she ran out of rocks and pottery, she handed the box off onto some lucky fool, and then refilled her hands with a drink somebody graciously handed to her, raising it in toast to everyone who showed up. 

Since none of her friends appeared to be in the main taproom, she made her way through the crush to the stairs, accepting congratulations as she went. She finally came across Sera on the steps near the top. 

“Good of you to finally show up to your own party. I didn’t get you anything.” 

“If I had known about it beforehand, I would have avoided it,” she assured her, lamenting that she had already given away all of the rocks. She would have loved to see the elf’s face and inevitable foul commentary about it. “Where are the others?” 

She gestured vaguely above them. “Up,” she replied unhelpfully. 

“All right. I’ll see you.” 

The middle floor proved to be occupied by more familiar faces. Varric, Bull, Dagna, and a few other Chargers were embroiled in what appeared to be a fierce game of Wicked Grace, Dorian chatted with Cassandra and Blackwall while they tossed knives at a target and Cole watched nearby, squinting suspiciously at the knife board as if it contained divine secrets. Solas and Vivienne were conspicuously missing. She had no doubt they detested the idea of the Inquisitor’s birthday party as much as she did. It was odd to be on the same side as either of them, for once. Her advisors had not shown up either, but they were workaholics. She imagined they struggled to pry themselves away from duty in the middle of a perfectly good afternoon. 

She skirted the game of Wicked Grace to assault Dorian first, since all of this was his fault. And by assault, she ended up approaching him with open arms and kissing both of his cheeks, because he was Dorian and she couldn’t help but adore every inch of him, even when she was furious with him. 

“I hate you, by the way,” she called over the general din in the overpacked tavern. “I know this party can only be your fault. How could you do it to me? I didn’t want  _ another _ celebration in my honor. You realize I’ve already had several this year.” 

“I knew you might hate it, but I decided I didn’t care. Don’t you want gifts?” 

“Is it the head of a geologist?” 

He faltered. “Um. No. But I’m curious as to what you would do with one.” 

“Mount it above my bed. Throw rocks at it.” 

“Interesting imagery, but I’m afraid not.” 

“Or, make a new staff out of it. Give Hank a girlfriend.”

He made a noise of disgust. “Parish the very thought. What I got you is infinitely more useful.” 

She sighed and held out her hand. “Fine. Let’s have it.” 

“It’s not a  _ thing _ , love, it’s a spell. I’m bequeathing you with the spell that keeps your gear clean. I’ll teach it to you when you have time this week. You’ll never scrub dirt or innards off your armor again.” 

Caroline gave an undignified “eep!” of elation and flung her arms around his neck to squeeze. She had been trying to pry that spell out of his greedy fingers for months. Dorian thought it was terribly funny to watch her suffer every time she had to sit down and go through every piece of her gear to eliminate gore from them. If she didn’t love him half as much as she did, she would have kicked him out of the Inquisition for being such an ass. 

“Have I mentioned that I love birthdays and I love parties?” 

He set her back away from him firmly. “You love neither of those things. You simply love me enough to put up with them now. Now go mingle! They are all here for you.” 

Since she was already right there, she thanked Blackwall and Cassandra for coming out to celebrate. The Seeker pulled her aside with fleeting looks toward the Wicked Grace table, as if she expected them all to begin eavesdropping. 

“Do  _ not _ tell Varric I hunted this down for you,” she warned as she passed over a little package wrapped in brown paper. “But happy birthday.” 

Curiosity hooked its claws into her as she peeled the paper away, revealing the worn, original copy of a Swords and Shields novel. She gasped and tore the rest of the paper away.

“It’s a first edition,” Cassandra explained, fidgeting restlessly. 

“Shut up! You found me a first edition of Swords and Shields? I love it!” she cried. Maybe birthdays weren’t so bad after all. “This is fantastic. Come here. I’m hugging you. Hold still.” 

She huffed a little. “Oh, if you must. Happy birthday.” 

Hugging Cassandra was about as comfortable as hugging a statue of Andraste. Caroline squeezed her tightly, not letting her go until the embrace could only be construed as awkward. Eventually the Seeker pried away from her like a disgruntled cat rejecting affection. 

“If Varric sees it, you didn’t get it from me,” she warned. “It would kill me if he guessed how much I had to go through to get my hands on one of his books.” 

She tapped the side of her nose with a wink. “Not a word.” 

Fleeing before she could get roped into another hug, she grabbed another drink and walked over to spectate the game of Wicked Grace, leaving Blackwall to approach. Blackwall was a hugger--one of the many things she liked about him. That and his beard, which she playfully tweaked when he pulled back. 

“Dorian said you’d have a fit over all of this,” he laughed.

“You didn’t see my face when I first walked in.” 

He laughed. “I’d have given a fair amount to be there. You don’t seem too angry, now.” 

“Well, people keep giving me presents.” 

“Didn’t you get presents on your other birthdays?” 

She paused, shrugging. “I suppose, but I’ve been celebrated too much this year. I’m starting to hate the attention.” 

“I have a hard time believing that.” 

“I put on a good face, but if I get called ‘Your Worship’ one more time, I’m tossing a geologist off the battlements just to make a point.” Before he could question her grudge against geologists, she pressed on. “But enough about that. Are you enjoying yourself? How is my party going?” 

“So far, I’ve lost five games of knife throwing to Cassandra.” He pulled a small package wrapped in soft, supple leather from his belt to pass to her. “Here. Made these for you.” 

“Made? And Cassandra hunted down the book.” She cast a suspicious look around. “How much warning were you all given? How long has this party been planned for?” 

“I got my invitation last month.” 

She hissed her displeasure. “You’ve all known a month, and nobody leaked it? What about Sera? Sera can’t keep secrets for shit.” 

“Far as I know, nobody told Sera until this morning, actually.” 

“Damn. That was smart.” 

Taking the package from him, she unwrapped a pair of very fine, incredibly soft leather gloves lined and trimmed with fur. The stitching on it was so small she could barely make it out in the dim lighting of the tavern. She struggled to imagine big, gruff Blackwall making such delicate things. She tugged them on, surprised that they fit precisely to her hands. 

“They’re perfect. How did you make them exactly my size?” 

“I had Sera steal an old pair of yours,” he admitted sheepishly.

“That’s where they got off to? I thought I was going crazy! But wait, did you not tell her what you wanted them for?”

“I just let her think I had a weird thing for your hands. It didn’t do any harm, and actually gave some of us a laugh over it.” 

Caroline giggled her approval. “Buried deep under that beard, you have a sense of humor next to that heart of gold.” 

“You’re too kind,” he scoffed sarcastically. 

“I love the gloves, Blackwall.”

“Well, you’re always complaining that your hands are cold in this damn mountain…” 

Boosting up on her toes, she kissed his rugged cheek. “You’re too kind, my dear.” 

Muttering incoherently, he spluttered out something about getting another drink and fled before she could inflict more niceties upon him. It was a pity. She would have liked to interrogate him about Josephine. She turned to go see what those at the card table were up to, but stopped when she nearly tripped over Cole. She hadn’t seen him move into her path, but that was his way. One second absent, the other second there. 

“I’m so glad you joined us, Cole.” 

“You mean that,” he mused in his vague, sing-song way, head cocked to one side, mop of hair falling into his eyes. “You didn’t mean it for the others downstairs.” 

She smiled patiently. “Why do you suppose that is?”

“You think I’m weird. You like weird people. But I am not people.” 

“Of course you’re people, Cole.” 

For a minute, his attention wandered, but he blinked and drew it back in. “Can I give you your present now?” 

“You got me something?” She tried to contain her affection for the young man. He was too easily startled by large bursts of emotion. 

He nodded, and held out his arms, closing in awkwardly. “It’s a hug,” he told her. 

She almost screamed. “I’ve always wanted to hug you!” Cole’s sad, confused little face often stirred feelings of abject maternity in her. 

“You have hugged me. I’m letting you remember this one. That is the present.” 

It miffed her that he’d been making her forget about hugs, so she took advantage of this one, pulling him in and trapping him against her. Unlike Cassandra, he relaxed after a moment. She wondered how many hugs she had given him that he erased from her mind, and for what reasons. Likely, she inflicted embraces on him any time he turned those sad, confused eyes on her. She couldn’t resist the look of a wounded puppy on a person. 

Releasing him at last, she held him at arm’s length and beamed. “Thank you, Cole. It was a lovely gift.”

He turned his eyes away. “Solas told me to stop stealing the hugs from your mind.” 

“Then I shall also thank him for his part of this gift. That was terribly kind of him.” 

As quickly as he appeared, he fled again. Caroline adored that cryptic little weirdo. Smiling, holding her book and gloves against her chest, she pranced over to check out the card game. Dorian had joined in, seated between Krem and the Iron Bull. She grabbed a chair across from him next to Dagna and waited to be dealt in the next round. 

“There’s a cask of wildwine being delivered up to your quarters for you to enjoy at your leisure, from of all the Chargers,” Krem informed her. 

“Truly? You are the best! My favorite mercenary crew, by far.” 

“They’re the only one employed by the Inquisition,” Dagna pointed out. 

“Like I said, my favorite.” 

Varric pulled the attention back to the game. “Quit distracting them, Carrie. Dorian, are you in or are you out?” 

“Hmm?” he looked up and blinked, as if his mind had wandered afar. “Oh. Yes. I suppose I am.” He added coins to the pile. “Is the party as dreadful as you thought it might be, Carrie? Or have you thrown aside your misplaced trepidations in lieu of a more civilized opinion.” 

“Fine, it’s not horrible. Not that I think we need any more excuses to celebrate me. After this, if I do something miraculous, you are all sworn  _ not _ to throw a party.” 

Nobody made a commitment to that, all suddenly very distracted in other directions. Caroline resolved to skip any subsequent parties on her behalf, even if there were presents, despite how nice they were. 

The game lasted a few more rounds, while Caroline shamelessly peeked at Dagna’s hand and helped her cheat by swiping cards from the discard pile. Unfortunately for both of them, the arcanist couldn’t hold it together to save her life. She erupted into random giggles, refused to look anyone else in the eye, and devolved into a babbling, nonsensical speech pattern nobody present could make heads or tales of. 

“Hey, Carrie, stop helping her hand!” Bull finally accused. 

Dagna spluttered an incoherent response, turning beet red and sliding low in her chair until only the top of her head could be seen above the table. 

Caroline threw up her hands in exasperation. “She’s hopeless! Come on, Dag! I had you up to three knights!” 

“I think I’ll just give you your gift and go. I think Sera’s around here somewhere…” She passed a metal tin wrapped in ribbon to her, still scrunched under the table. “Dorian said you like tea. I’m told this stuff is fancy and tastes like sunshine. I hope you like it.” 

She patted her arm. “I’m sure I’ll love it.” 

Oozing out of her chair, she scurried away while the rest of them shook their heads with chuckles and finished their game. Caroline turned back in time to see Dorian and Bull exchange a humored look, and Dorian’s hand come down on the back of Bull’s forearm. The touch was brief, perhaps erring on the side of casualness, but it didn’t escape her now that they sat close enough for their legs to brush beneath the table. 

She gasped so hard she choked, pointing an accusing finger across the table at them. “ _ You two _ .” 

They stared with matching expressions of scrutiny for a suspended moment while nobody else breathed. 

Finally, Dorian’s hand came down on the table. “ _ Vishante kaffas _ , already?” he cried in outrage.  

Iron Bull roared with approval, also hitting the table and stabbed a finger at the Tevinter beside him. “I  _ told _ you! I told you she’d figure it out! What’s it been, three weeks? Oh, you are paying up  _ hard _ tonight.” 

“Three weeks?” she shrilled. “It’s been three weeks and you didn’t tell me? Dorian, how could you?” 

His face twisted and he folded his arms with a large huff. “Well, I was going to...until we made the bet.” 

“Wait, are you angry or thrilled? I can’t tell,” Varric cut in. 

“I can’t either! I’m too mad at them for lying to me to be happy! I’ll be happy later!” she shouted. “Unbelievable. Unbelievable, Dorian. And you’re no better, Bull. I just...I can’t...ugh!” 

“Well, happy birthday, Boss. Us crazy kids finally got together,” Bull laughed. “And for the record,  _ he _ was the one who said it would take you forever to figure out. I said two to six weeks.” 

“Hey, are we ever going to finish this game?” Varric complained. 

“One second. We better calm her down and I have my present to give her. This’ll make you feel better.” The Qunari passed over a wrapped package. 

She hated to admit it, but the gift did pacify her to an alarming degree. “You got me something? I figured you had gone in with the rest of the Chargers.” Did she croon? She was certain she crooned. Where had all of her anger gone? 

“They can have their own glory. I wanted to get you something extra, just from me.” 

She untied the bow that held it all together and pulled away the packaging to reveal a carved wooden box with depictions of humans engaged in graphic, lewd acts etched on its surface. The box was delightfully scandalous. She took a moment to inspect all of the figures adorning the outside and the creativity of the positions. She wasn’t positive that they were all physically possible, but she had to give the artist credit for imagination. 

“Where in Thedas did you find this thing?” 

“Orlais. Where else? But look inside. There’s more.” He winked--or blinked. It was so hard to tell with his missing eye. 

Nestled within on its own velvety cushion was a painstakingly shaped phallus. She wasn’t quite sure of the material, but it was of a decent size and unique design. 

“It’s ribbed--for your pleasure,” he suggested lecherously. 

Dorian cast him a suspicious look, rising up in his seat to get a peek across the table at the box’s contents. “Did you get her a sex toy?” 

“Of course I did! Nobody else is taking care of her and she can’t be expected to go solo every night.”

“All right, I’m positive I’m going to love it, so Bull, you are forgiven. Don’t think you’re off my shit-list, though, Dorian.” She closed the box and set it aside with the rest of her things. 

“ _ Now  _ can we play?” Varric grumbled. 

They finished up their round while Caroline convinced one of the Chargers to run and get her another drink. She couldn’t recall where she had set down her last one and didn’t feel motivated enough to hunt it down. With an ale in hand, she discreetly arranged the other cards she had swiped from the table while helping Dagna cheat so she could get to them after she was dealt in. The others cheated just as much as she did, so scraping out a win was almost impossible anyway. 

Midway through the fourth match, as she eyed Varric like a hawk for signs of cheating to toss him out of the round, none other than their illustrious commander appeared at the top of the stairs. Cullen was difficult to miss. That feathered ruff he wore about his shoulders was one of a kind. 

He caught her eye, perking half a smile, although it looked a bit strained around the edges. Approaching their table, he nodded to them politely. 

“Commander! Care to join us for a hand? You like Wicked Grace, right?” Varric called. 

“I’m afraid I can’t, but if you would be kind enough to let me borrow Caroline for a moment…?” 

She almost tripped flying out of her chair. “I’ll just be a moment, gentlemen. Do  _ not _ proceed in the round without me!” She fixed a finger at Krem, the current dealer. He was the one no one ever suspected, but she knew he was a filthy instigator. She drew Cullen off to the side where they might hear each other over the roar of the party. 

“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, his voice strained. A fine mist of perspiration lingered at the edge of his face and lines of tension creased the corners of his mouth and eyes. 

Caroline studied him before answering, ignoring his question. “Are you all right?” 

“Fine.” A blatant lie, sloppily delivered. 

“That’s not true, even a little bit.” 

He took in a steady breath, eyes closing for a moment. 

“Is it the lyrium absence? Still?” she pressed. 

“I can handle it.” 

“I know.” She resisted the urge to reach out and hug him, afraid that trying might cause him to shatter under the pressure. “Fragile” was not often a word she attributed to Cullen, but tonight she might make an exception. She had hoped he was getting better, that these bad days would ebb away. “Thank you for showing up, in spite of it all.” 

His smile was halfhearted, at best. “I have something for you.” It was unwrapped, small enough to fit in the palm of her hand. “It’s a runestone. Supposed to be powerful. To use on Hank, maybe give it a bit more of an edge.” 

“That’s wonderful!” She held it against her in delight. “Maker, I’ve had my eye out for a new one for weeks now! Thank you!” 

“And make sure you thank Dorian for all of this. He spent a lot of time fretting that you would be genuinely upset over a big party.” 

“Oh, very well. It’s been surprisingly fun, and I didn’t really expect presents.”  She could see the change in his posture, the decision that he would bid her good day and flee. “I wish you felt up to a hand or two of Wicked Grace, but perhaps another time.” 

“Of course, Inquisitor. Enjoy the rest of your evening.” 

She blocked his way out for a moment, breaking his personal bubble to step in close. “Or, maybe later I could come by and take your mind off of things.” 

“I’ll be fine, Caroline. There’s no need for you to worry.” 

Since he didn’t get the hint, she tried again. “I’d much rather a smaller, more personal birthday celebration anyway.” 

“Really, don’t bother yourself with me. Enjoy your evening,” he bid, bowing shallowly and stepping around her toward the stairs. 

Caroline gnawed the inside of her cheek and returned to the card table, plopping back into her chair with a long exhale. 

“Didn’t go well?” Varric guessed, rearranging his cards in his hand. 

“You all watch, he’s going to have a red mark on his forehead tomorrow.” 

Krem raised his eyebrows. “A red mark?” 

“From where he smacks himself later when he replays our conversation in his head and the innuendo clicks.” She threw up her hands. “You know what? He’s an idiot. I’m going to just have to make a move. A real move. If he won’t get it, I’ll spell it out plainly.” 

Varric leaned back in his chair, a slow grin blooming. “You care to make it interesting?” 

“No, no, no. I’m not making any more wagers with you. Especially if they cockblock me.” 

“I think you’ll be interested in this one.” 

“I’m not. Truly, no.” 

His grin was nothing short of savage. “Hear me out. If you win, I’ll invite Cassandra to have dinner with me.” 

She opened her mouth to voice another objection, but snapped it shut with an audible clack of her teeth. “I’m listening,” she growled. 

“But if you lose, you have to retire Hank. Permanently.” 

Her breath caught in her throat. Not her staff. Not her beloved, faithful, lovely staff. Hank had been with her every step since Haven fell. They’d killed legions together. She absolutely couldn’t retire him, no matter how much her companions hated him. 

Except, Varric and Cassandra. Together. Alone. On a date. They were both too proud to ever get together willingly. This could be a real first step. 

“Shit,” Bull breathed, gripping the edges of the table and whipping looks between them. “Those are some fucking stakes.” 

“All right, let’s hear the rest of it. What would this be over?” 

“The first move. If you have to make it, I win. If you wait for Curly to make the first move, you win. And no outside interference. If anybody goes and tells him about this bet or talks him into kissing you, you forfeit. Sound fair?” 

Caroline could only get out a pathetic mewling noise. Yes, she wanted to win the bet, but at the same time, if she waited for Cullen to do anything, she might actually die of old age first. It was the perfect trap, and from Varric’s shit-eating grin, he knew he had her. 

“I have a few caveats of my own,” she finally said. “You must take her somewhere nice. In fact, you have to let me pick the venue. You must clean up and look both refined and civilized. You don’t get to ruin it on a technicality. You must be polite, remember your table manners, and act like a gentleman.” 

“As long as, if I win, you don’t get to personify any of your weapons ever again. You can name them whatever you want, but no more giving them personalities, no more puns.” 

They stared each other down, taking a moment to ruminate over the specifics of the bet. 

“One last thing, for the others. If Cullen approaches them to ask for advice or to confide, they are permitted to encourage him to a limited extent. If he specifically asks if he should make a move, they can agree. Likewise, if he initiates conversation, I can state that I am open to advances.” 

“That’s fair,” he agreed grudgingly. 

She  reached across Krem to extend her hand down the table for him to shake, immediately regretting her life decisions. What the hell would it take to get Cullen to make a move without telling him to do it? He just proved that innuendo flew over his head entirely. 

“Oh, this is going to be horrible,” she predicted, sinking back into her chair.  

“Not for the rest of us. This is going to be hilarious!”

“Glad I bought you that toy now,” Bull snorted. 

Varric might have won in the short term. He got to watch her suffer for an undetermined amount of time and put Hank at serious risk.  Eventually, she would make him choke on his laughter. In the long run, everything would work out better for her than for him--as long as she could keep her smallclothes from erupting into flames in the interim while she waited out Cullen’s awkward shyness. 

“I’m going to need another drink,” she whined after polishing hers off. 

They got through a few more rounds of Wicked Grace and a few other acquaintances tracked Caroline down to congratulate her on surviving the year and give her small tokens. Drinks flowed heavily, and with her future at stake over a stupid bet, she imbibed more than she might have. Eventually, Dorian supported her around the middle as they staggered out of the Herald’s Rest, aiming for the main keep to get her up to her quarters. It seemed like a poor idea. There were quite a lot of stairs between them and her bed. Their free arms were loaded with her gifts. Between them, they managed not to leave anything behind. 

“I call that a success, dear Dorian. I know I put up a fuss, but it really was lovely. Loveliest birthday ever. I don’t think I’ve ever had such friends to make a birthday so nice. My friendships in the Circle were different. Those were friends of proximity. You get along with people close to you because you must.” She hiccuped loudly as they navigated their first obstacle--the stairs leading into the great hall of Skyhold’s main keep. “Of course, I have some of those here, too, but I mean to say, I  _ picked _ you. And some of the others. You’re my friends because I  _ like _ you.” 

“Are you getting sentimental on me, Carrie? Dare I say, perhaps even weepy.” 

“I’m not weepy!” She shrugged her shoulders against her moist eyes. 

They breached the threshold of the main hall, empty this time of night. It was a good thing, too. The people didn’t need to see their Inquisitor staggering her way to bed, although, as Sera would say, it might make her seem more like ‘people’ to them.

“Now--” Another loud hiccup. “--tell me about the Iron Bull.”

“Big Qunari. One eye. Rarely wears shirts…” 

She nudged him, nearly toppling them both over. “You know what I mean! What’s going on? Tell me everything.” 

“Everything?” he drawled pointedly. 

“Do you honestly think you could embarrass me with the details?” 

“You make a fair point. I don’t know, Carrie. It was just going to be the once. Scratch the itch. Sate the curiosity. You know how it goes. Then one time turned into another time. Then another. Then another. And another...” 

They veered toward the door leading up to her quarters, feet scuffling along unevenly. They paused at the bottom landing to catch their breaths and make sure they had a grip on their armloads of presents before they made the arduous climb to the top. 

“Ought I deliver him a stern warning? ‘Take care of my friend, or else I’ll electrocute your nuggy wang off?’” 

“If you must,” he sighed, gripping her tightly as they mounted the stairs so he didn’t lose her off the edge.

“Your happiness is all I want.” 

“Maker’s balls, you are sentimental tonight!” 

“I’m getting old. It was bound to happen.” 

By divine luck, they made it all the way to her room without serious mishap. They unloaded their arms into the little settee at the top of the stairs and Caroline staggered to the bed, flopping face-down onto it. Dorian tucked her in and left quietly with one last bid for her to have a happy birthday. She didn’t sleep immediately, instead spending some quality time staring at her ceiling and musing over her day. It was really a good thing Blackwall and Josephine had started a flirtation. Without needing to meddle over Dorian and Iron Bull or Cassandra and Varric, she might have gotten bored. It was certainly something to look forward to. 


End file.
